What are the chances? (Sequel to This Perverted Thing)
by GillianDrake
Summary: Count Dracula has "this perverted thing" for a breather, specifically Garside Grange's Head Teacher, Miss Alexandra McCauley. But can the popular Vampire/Human love-story work between The Prince of Darkness and a Head Teacher? This is the sequel to my fic (largely based upon the 3rd series) This Perverted Thing. Please Read, Review and Enjoy.
1. What are the chances?

"Sixty eight and seven is…" he murmured.

Her warm, delicate hand reached out and curled around his, halting the quill in its infernal tracks across the page. If the Count had had breath in his body, it would have stopped; if he'd had a heartbeat, it would have stuttered.

Deep in the inner sanctum that was his office, he couldn't help but shiver, though it had little to do with the merciless cold that froze the air outside.

"I know I've been cold to you in the past," she said, her voice tight, nervous and most pleasingly of all, earnest, "but it's only so you wouldn't guess the truth."

The Count's eyes trailed from her hand, up her sleeve, to her wondrously alluring face. Her loose hair was a glorious tumble over her shoulders. He longed to bury his fingers in that silken mass, but he was frozen; he could barely move, as if, if he did, this whole thing would amount to a cruel, tormenting dream the likes of which had been plaguing him since she'd told him that she wasn't sure that anything more than strict professionalism between them should be allowed.

Nothing had been said since then. He couldn't bring himself to demand an explanation. _Why _wouldn't she let them attempt it? Even if she didn't love him, perhaps she could be persuaded…

"The truth?" he asked innocently.

"Something I've been hiding since the day we met." At this, the Count smirked;

"Please say you're not _Mr _McCauley."

"I've fallen in love with you." Her eyes were wide and bluer than the skies at twilight, and he was enthralled. He couldn't believe this. How could this _be_? Could she really be in love with him? Was it possible – really – after all this time – all this cursed prevarication and obfuscation?

The quill he'd held fell from his suddenly limp hand.

"I know it's wrong," she sighed,

"No –" His chest was tight – this wasn't wrong at all. It was right – too right. Too right for words –

"I'm the headmistress; you're the owner, but ... it feels so right." At the light behind her eyes, at the warm, inviting softness of her lips – and her words … he was rapturous.

"Tell me if I'm being a fool." She said – as if _he _would be the one to reject her.

Reaching for her, he exclaimed, "My heart was yours from the moment we met." Well, it almost wasn't quite true – but that was an unimportant detail. He couldn't imagine not loving her – not wanting her – not now that she was in this room and professing her love for him.

"But I kept silent," he said, standing up – staring upward for some sort of guidance that was not forthcoming, "because I, too, have a secret. A terrible, terrible secret. If I tell you, your love for me will die." Turning back to her, he searched her eyes.

She looked away with a sly smile. "I'm not scared of secrets, Mr Count." She murmured. Her eyes flicked back to him. "Or should I say … Count Dracula?"

That name on her lips was like an electric shock – tearing him out of the state of romantic rapture that he'd fallen into. Bearing down on her, almost accusingly, he cried, "_You _know who I am – no – _what _I am!?"

"I want us to be together forever." She exclaimed, passion flushing her cheeks, her hair turning gold in the firelight. "Bite me, my love."

"Yes." He whispered, every cell in his body thrumming with anticipation, raging lust pouring through him.

"Bite me," she whispered, baring the smooth, soft column of her throat.

Without another word, he pulled back the dark fall of her hair, ready for the bite. He closed his eyes, oh so ready for the kill. It would be so good; so very, very _sweet._

His lips were so close to her neck – he had to savour this one moment – this first consummation of their love.

His eyes flicked open for the barest second, and he jerked back in horror.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" he asked the room at large, deliberately looking away from the figure that he had very almost bitten. Himself. _Curses_.

"You were about to bite me. I'd call that a nightmare." The other … _him_ … laughed mockingly as he despairingly planted his head into the account book.

...

A knock at the door dragged him – not entirely unwillingly, of course – from his nightmare. Looking up, he saw that Miss McCauley had come in. With the light from the hallway behind her, she looked divine and delicious and yet completely untouchable.

"Have you finished the finance projections?" She demanded. Yes, alright, she had asked for them a week ago, but couldn't the infernal woman give it a rest? The thought of her was haunting his every waking moment – even his sleeping ones weren't safe!

"Well, I – I" He started guiltily, pointing at his work (made awfully conspicuous by its absence).

"Were you asleep?" Her hands planted themselves on her hips as he covered his mouth in a yawn.

"No, no, no – wide awake, wide awake." He lied, staring up at her, wishing that all the things she'd said in his dream would magically come true.

"Well, I need those figures on my desk by morning." She said primly, crushing all his poor dreams even further into the mud.

"Right." He sighed as, with a last, lingering look, Miss McCauley left the room.

As the door closed, he picked up his quill. "The chances of Miss McCauley being secretly in love with me…" He carefully, deliberately, wrote down the one statistic he wished he could forget: "Zero."


	2. If you love her, lie to her

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! Honestly, I'm sorry that I'm late but I'm so glad that you guys want me to continue. I'm hoping to catch up on the chapters missed this week, the next one probably being uploaded tomorrow. I'm loving this series so much, even if it has grown up even further from the last series. I know a lot of people are thinking that it's a bit too old for Cbbc, now and I think I'm getting to be one of them. It's heading into the kind of territory that Merlin inhabits. **

**Anyway, it's been a few months since I wrote any fanfic (so if I'm a little rusty, I'm so sorry), and I hope you guys like 'What are the chances?' as much as 'This Perverted Thing' :) Please read, review and enjoy! }-)**

"Pathetic," he muttered with a disdainful scowl, "he's missed her jugular by a country mile." As far as the Count was concerned, breathers trying to imitate vampires was all well and good, but when they couldn't even get the very basics of vampirism right, well … it was downright insulting.

"Oh! Morning, Mr Count." He whirled around at the familiar voice, a delighted mile curling itself onto his features as he beheld the sublimely beautiful owner of that voice; Alexandra McCauley.

"Ah, morning…" He murmured, drinking in the sight of her chestnut hair pulled back to expose the satin smooth skin of her throat, simply adorned by a pearl necklace.

"I saw some odd looking kids in the school, last night." She said, halting his present train of thought.

"Chess club?" The Count suggested, innocently.

"No, they weren't pupils." She laughed. "They looked … _homeless_." Oh curse the woman's endearing over-abundance of intelligence! But at least he didn't have to make the effort to concoct a lie; he just didn't have to tell the whole truth.

"Oh no, no, no – that's Vlad. He's rounded up some street urchins, trying to clean them up; teach them life skills. I'll tell him to get rid of them." He said, with a little more in the way of pleasure infecting his voice than Vlad would have liked. It was a bad idea in its entirety – it just wasn't natural for young fangs to be cooped up in a classroom and be made to be nice to _breathers_.

"How kind of Vlad to try and help those less fortunate than himself." Miss McCauley smiled. On the other hand, he thought …

"Actually it was my idea – yes – I thought the whole thing up, not Vlad, but I –" he looked around nervously – it wouldn't do for anyone else, particularly Ramanga or any of the rest of the High Council, to hear the lie that he was spinning for his Miss McCauley, "I don't like to talk about my – charity work."

It was worth the danger to say those words, he decided upon seeing her face light up even further, her hand placed intimately on his sleeve. "Oh – we need more people like you: selfless, caring, humane."

He looked up, half-shocked and all pleased. She hadn't touched him – outside of his dreams - in, well … rather a while. "Well I only wish I could do more – those poor souls."

"I'd like to meet them." Oh, but the plan ... _Oh_. Ah. It would have to be derailed, or at least put on hold – the Vampire way of life might be under threat, but that was nothing when he had a chance to endear himself to Miss McCauley further, perhaps repair himself in her good graces.

"Well, they're quite a shy bunch, er – yes, I – I'll see what I can do." He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes; breather women liked a little show of sensitivity, didn't they? Yes. Not much had changed in the centuries that he'd been around and he was going to use all the experience he had to win her over – properly, this time!


	3. A lot can happen in a few minutes

**Author's Note: Ok, so I may be stretching it out, but I really liked this scene – it always makes me wonder what is actually going to happen to this thing between McCauley and the Count…**

"Th – the point is … we had a deal –"

"Which you broke." Ingrid said. "I won't be sidelined; I _want _that seat on the council."

"Pah – I'm not lifting a _fang _to help you." Ramanga declared petulantly, his bottom lip jutting out sulkily.

Ingrid nodded, seemingly resigned to not having her way. "Well, there are still a few minutes before the deadline. A lot can happen in a few minutes. Tick tock. Tick. Tock." She smiled a smile that the Count new well – he'd seen it on her mother's face all too often. It was a smile that lit up the eyes; it was a smile full of both mischief and malice – and it made the Count still in apprehension.

Worthless and pointless as the girl was, she was still good at making trouble for everyone.

"_What _have you done?" The Count asked, his voice calm and quiet.

"I told the revamp group they could go to the Halloween disco." At this, the Count's eyes flew open and he stared in horror at his daughter. Ingrid grinned and elaborated for the slightly slower Ramanga, whose expression was still that of a five year old child denied their sweetened maggots.

"Miss McCauley and the breather kids are probably down there getting turned into pin cushions as we speak." Ramanga's lips twisted into a malevolent grin – of course, a bloodbath of innocent, helpless breathers would always be more appealing to a vampire than the biting of only one slayer…

"Ah, now _that's _more like it!" he growled, eyeing Ingrid with a consideration that he hadn't before. Of course the girl was evil – she was a vampire – but that she actually had some level of competence … well, she was becoming more and more interesting by the night.

Meanwhile, the Count's mind was racing, trying to find some way to stop this: if Miss McCauley were harmed – if he couldn't save her, he didn't know what he would do – and even if, by some infernal miracle, she were turned into a vampire … she would be owned by a barbarous uncultured _streetfang_ with nothing to his name!

And even if she weren't bitten, she wouldn't exactly be pleased that the breather sprogs weren't, _well_, breathing anymore.

"Yes. Well done Ingrid." He said almost mechanically.

"You don't mind?" Ingrid asked as Ramanga circled her like a vulture a rotting carcass, her voice full of mock innocence, "I thought you had a soft spot for McCauley."

Ramanga's head shot up with a scowl, "Hmm?"

"Why would I be interested in a breather?" The Count demanded heatedly. "I find her unblemished innocence _highly_ irritating."

Ingrid and Ramanga turned and shared a small, conspiratorial glance. Ramanga believed him. _Just. _Ingrid, on the other hand, didn't believe him at all. Curse eye contact! The Count thought, as a cold fist clutched at his icy, black heart.


	4. Too Late

**Author's Note: Hiatus is over! I am so sorry that I haven't updated in so long, but hopefully I'll be able to catch up in the next week and make you all happy. This chapter – because I seem to have made her particularly unhappy and because it was her birthday the Sunday before last – is dedicated to amy-fielding. **

**Please read, review and enjoy! }-)**

He raced desperately through the corridors toward the throbbing disco music. He refused to imagine her – no – he couldn't bear the thought of his Alexandra cold and lifeless, carelessly thrown around by the feral street-rats.

He whirled around the corner and his heart thudded painfully. The sight that met him in the school corridor was horrifying. Her skin was pale and lifeless, her eyes were dark-rimmed and gleaming, and her body was encased in satin and lace –

"I'm too late."

"What do you think of my costume?" She asked, smiling gaily and posing in a sultry manner at him, as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary.

…

"Costume?" He asked, apparently baffled at the concept. At this, she blinked; Mr Count could be quite ridiculous sometimes. It wasn't as if she'd wear something like this normally – and it _was_ Halloween.

"Well, I'm the bride of Dracula – Mwahahahaha!" She added the last for good measure, thinking that perhaps it would sound good. Unfortunately it didn't sound as good as it did in her head – and Mr Count was looking at her as if she was a lunatic.

Never mind – it was just as well. She didn't want him to like her like that, anyway. She'd decided this after that drink they'd had – no, she wasn't going to think about that, anymore!

…

At that, he giggled – oh this was too much! Too good to be true. Oh she was … she was … _alive_! Thank Go – _er _– whatever!

"Oh … you look …. Delectable. The outfit's a real h-heartstopper." He only wished she'd adopt the style – along with sleeping in a coffin and supping on blood (with him, of course).

"Oh, well…you didn't dress up?" At this, the Count grinned to himself, the perfect idea forming in his brain. He stalked toward her, noting the way her eyes widened with an interest that she couldn't hide, no matter how many times she said it wasn't suitable.

"Greetings. I am Count Dracula. Your Husband." If only, he thought. But he couldn't resist a small application of showmanship – it was something he could do that no stupid breather peasant man could. He chuckled, baring his impressive (he'd been told) fangs for her delectation and delight. It seemed to be working judging by the gleeful grin that curved her alluring lips.

"Love the colour-changing contacts. And those fangs are amazing! Where d'you get them – ebay?"

"I made them myself." He chuckled, before extending his hand to her and leading his lady (well, not quite, but that wasn't the point) into the party.

…

"I'd ask you to dance, Mr Count," she joked, "but I can't see you dancing to this sort of music." **Yes, that's it, Alex, **she thought, **keep it light.**

At that, her employer turned to her, wide eyed. "Would you like to?" he asked.

"Er, no." she smiled, she wouldn't put him through _that _humiliation. She supposed she'd already caused him enough grief – she was just thankful to have kept her job, in all honesty.

"This isn't really my sort of music, either, _although_," she leant into him conspiratorially, watching all the pupils dancing in their fairy-wings and fake blood, "I might do it, later – just to mortify them."

"Really?" he laughed, "How perfectly _evil! _May I watch?"

"Of course." She grinned. Yes, this was good; light friendly banter – no flirting whatsoever. She _could _do this.

"Ah…" Mr Count murmured, staring off into the distance, "I may have to watch you mortify the students some other time, my dear Miss McCauley. I'm afraid I have some pressing business that needs to be attended to."

"Oh, alright – will you be back later?" She asked, but he'd already gone. One day, _one day_, she would work out how on Earth he did that.


End file.
